Not A Soul Is To Know
by runtherace
Summary: The year is 1882. Miss Molly Hooper is the niece of Lady Sarah Bercombe, but is staying with the widowed Mrs Hudson in London. All Molly wants is to become a doctor, and jumps at the chance to learn when Mycroft offers to teach her in secret. However, James Moriarty is after Molly's inheritance, and nothing will stop him in his pursuit... Rated T to be safe. Enjoy! runtherace x
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Dear reader, for the purposes of this fic I have taken the characters of BBC's Sherlock and thrown them back in time. I am aware that they are not all in character, and that's kind of what I intended. It's very hard to keep them accurate to BBC standards when they are now in the 1800s. Believe me. I hope you enjoy what I've started here, and review if you want more! I have got a plot lined up for this, and things will speed up next chapter. Now, read!**

Miss Mary Hooper (or Molly, to her friends) sat in Trafalgar Square's dance hall and watched. The candlelight cast flickering shadows on the couples waltzing about the room, almost as if the flames were joining in with their own frenzied dance.

She gave a small smile; she was not one for dancing. Considering a woman her age was supposed to be accomplished at _everything_, it was quite a tall order and not one that Molly Hooper intended to fulfil. Dancing, sewing and reading were all very well and good, but what about the important things in life? Surely there was more to it than she had been taught? No, science was where it was at, and Molly wanted in. Bone structure, cells and how they divide, and Darwin's theory of evolution… this is what stimulated her mind and drove her crazy at night. And in her wildest imagination, one day, just _maybe_, she might make it as a doctor…

"Molly? Are you okay?"

Molly shook herself out of her reverie. Her friend Sally had joined her at an empty chair and was holding out a small glass of sherry to her. Molly accepted it and smiled, grateful that no one could guess what she was thinking about. Sally would have just laughed it off, although Molly recalled in their younger years that she had wanted to be a Bow Street Runner.

"Yes, I'm fine; I just drifted off for a little while, sorry. Been dancing, have you?"

Sally blushed and her eyes flickered towards her most recent partner: Mr Anderson. He caught her eye and gave her a little wave, causing Sally's face to flush a deeper shade of red.

Molly giggled and sipped at her sherry. She knew that Sally had had her eye on Mr Anderson for some time now, and she was glad that he had finally asked her to dance that evening. Though it might have been something to do with the hint she had given him when he arrived…

"_Mr Anderson! How are you?"_

"_Miss Hooper, how pleasant to see you. I'm very well, thank you. Care to dance later?"_

_Molly blushed a little. "I thank you, but no; I'm afraid I was not made for dancing. However, my friend, Miss Donovan–" _(here, she had pointed her out in the crowd)_ "–would very much like to dance this evening. I expect you could charm her to agree to partner you."_

"_You are very kind, Miss Hooper. I might just see if Miss Donovan will take me up on that. Excuse me!"_

Molly scanned the dancers once more as Sally turned to talk to Mr Anderson, who had just sat down on Sally's other side. She decided that in order to pass the time, she would try her hand at naming some of the muscles that the current dancers were using. _Gluteus maximus_, _Semimembranosus_, _Tibialis anterior_… One by one, she ticked them off in her head, mentally visualising them from one of her guardian's late husband's encyclopaedias. Ever since Molly had discovered the late Mr Hudson's vast library, she had been sneaking out thick volumes in the dead of night and devouring them by candlelight in her bedroom.

She sighed again, wishing that she had some way of truly realising her dream, when she felt a light tap on her shoulder.

"Excuse me, Miss?" The voice was male, soft, and had a slight Irish lilt to it. Once again coming back into reality, she turned to find a well-dressed, dark-haired young man in his mid-twenties standing at her shoulder.

"Yes?" Molly had never seen this man before; certainly never at the dance hall. Then again, she reminded herself, London was a big place.

"Are you Miss Hooper? Miss Mary Hooper?" The man took a seat and looked quite eager to talk to her. Pushing back thoughts of leg muscle, she smiled and replied.

"Yes, I am. May I help you?"

"Oh, no – it's just that my uncle, Lord Hawkstone, is friends with your aunt, the Lady Bercombe. He told me that her niece was staying in London, and to greet her on his behalf."

"Oh, that's nice of him. Tell him I return the favour." Inwardly Molly frowned. Her aunt wasn't really the friendly type, and she hadn't heard of Lord Hawkstone either. Then again, she'd been away from Cambridge for so long now…

The man stayed at her side. In order to break the rather awkward silence that had fallen between them, Molly asked, "So, you are…?"

"James. James Moriarty." He held out his hand. Molly went to shake it, but James pressed it to his lips instead, smirking slightly as she pulled her hand away. "Care to dance?"

"Erm, I thank you, but no – I'm afraid I would not make a particularly good partner." Truth be told, Molly was starting to feel a little unsettled by this James, but of course she could not tell him this outright. Better to put him down, and then hopefully he would get the hint and leave.

"Oh, come now – everyone was made to dance," James said, pouting slightly. "And besides, it's about having a good time. I haven't seen you dance once since arriving here."

_He's been watching me? _thought Molly, now feeling very uncomfortable.

She smiled at him and replied, "Oh, I entertain myself quite well sat here. Please, do not let me hinder your own enjoyment of the evening."

"Oh, you're not," said James. "I find you quite… _fascinating_."

"I beg your pardon?"

But James did not respond; his face had become neutral and he was watching the dancers, occasionally glancing up at the musicians in the gallery.

Molly turned to Sally, but found she was not there; looking round, she saw her and Mr Anderson on the dance floor once again, twirling around gaily, if not a little out of time with the music. Feeling desperate to move, she collected Sally's half-filled glass from beside her, as well as her own empty one, and was about to take them back to the table when she saw another man approach where she was sat.

This man was tall, and possibly in his late forties. He carried a tall, black umbrella crooked on his arm, and looked quite serious – quite opposite to the hint of mischief she had seen in James Moriarty's face.

"Mr Moriarty?" countered the serious man. James looked up and frowned a little; he looked as if someone had interrupted an interesting conversation he was having.

"Yes?"

"I believe there is a Mr Moran looking for you by the doors."

"Well, if you might be so kind, sir, I am in the middle of a conversation with this young lady here."

_Liar!_

"Mr Moran says it is urgent."

Looking slightly frustrated, James turned to Molly.

"Until next time, Miss Hooper," he said, holding out his hand. But Molly had fallen for it once before, and would not do so again. She did not take it.

Looking offended, and even a little angry, James Moriarty stood up, brushed down his suit, and walked towards the entrance. Molly sighed and sank down a little in her chair. James had been starting to scare her…

"Are you all right, Miss Hooper?" enquired the serious gentleman.

"Yes, yes, quite all – how did you know my name?"

The man chuckled and sat down next to her. "I know quite a few things about you Miss Hooper, but don't worry; you are quite safe with me."

Molly frowned and turned her gaze back to the dance floor as she digested this latest statement. _What did he mean, "You are quite safe with me"?_ He seemed to be implying that he knew a lot about her.

Turning to the mysterious gentleman, who was also watching the activities, she asked, "Not to sound impertinent, sir, but – who are you?"

The man chuckled again as he turned to face her. "My dear, that is not in any way impertinent; it is a perfectly valid question. My name is Mycroft Holmes. I have a small position in the British government. I also knew Mr Hudson – your guardian's late husband – very well. I occasionally visit his library to borrow some of his books. So imagine, to my surprise, that some of his thicker tomes – specifically encyclopaedias and dictionaries – are not only _not_ gathering dust, but are in some cases _missing _all together. Now, I know Mrs Hudson would not touch those particular volumes, and so I can only assume it is you."

Molly blushed and glanced at the floor. "You have guessed correctly, Mr Holmes," she said, smiling despite herself.

"Now, why would a young lady, such as yourself, be interested in _medical journals_?"

Molly glanced up at Mr Holmes, expecting to see him concerned, but found there was a twinkle in his eyes. She decided to trust him, and taking a deep breath, she said, "I would like to become a doctor." There, it was out. She had never told anyone before, except for Mrs Hudson's cat, and he didn't count. She buried her face in her hands; it had sounded so foolish out loud.

But rather than dismiss her statement as 'stuff and nonsense', Mr Holmes merely placed his hand on top of hers and said, "My dear, I think that is wonderful. And I would like to help you."

Molly looked up in surprise. "Do not jest with me, sir," she said. "I could not bear it for my dreams to be dashed now."

Mycroft Holmes raised his eyebrows. "I am not joking," he said. "I am perfectly serious. I would like to help achieve this ambition of yours; I believe it can be done; but we must be discrete. It is rare to meet someone with your aspirations, especially at such a young age. How old are you now, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I am just turned twenty," said Molly, smiling.

"Excellent!" said Mr Holmes. "Then there's not a moment to lose. I wonder… Would you really like to be instructed properly in the medical profession?"

"Oh yes, very much!"

"Then it shall be so. Every Wednesday evening, I shall employ a doctor from St Bartholomew's hospital. He shall be sworn to secrecy, I promise you. If you were to meet me at eight each week at my house (Number Eight, Kensington Road), then I believe we might start getting somewhere. But you must promise me that you will work hard; becoming a doctor does not come lightly or easily."

"Of course, Mr Holmes. I will." Inside, Molly was performing cartwheels. She had not been this happy since her aunt had bought her a puppy for Christmas when she was eight years old.

At this moment, Mrs Hudson herself approached them. She was a dear, fussy old thing, and Molly loved living with her on Baker Street. She could tell that from Mrs Hudson's slightly irritable expression, she was ready to return home.

"I fear I will have to go now," said Molly. "Thank you so much for this opportunity! But, may I ask, why? Why help me? You're not like anyone else I've ever met."

Mr Holmes smiled. "Oh, I expect you shall meet much stranger people than I, one day," he said. "Why? Let's say it's returning a favour, and leave it at that."

Molly knew she would get no more from Mr Holmes that night. She stood up and made her goodbyes. Sally rushed over from the dance floor, giggling like a schoolgirl.

"Mr Anderson just told me the _funniest _thing!" she whispered. Molly smiled and said that she would have to hear it another time; Mrs Hudson seemed to be getting impatient.

Turning to Mr Holmes, she whispered, "I can't thank you enough. I shall see you this Wednesday?"

"Eight o' clock sharp," replied Mr Holmes in an equally hushed tone.

"Thank you! Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Miss Hooper. And remember; not a soul is to know!"

Molly nodded, and with that, she and her guardian left the dance hall. Mycroft Holmes chuckled, then, glancing at his pocket watch, took his leave also.

Unbeknownst to the both of them, James Moriarty had been standing at a small distance behind the pair, for quite some time, listening intently to the exchange that had just taken place. Mr Moran's request had not been urgent at all; only to do with what time he wanted the cab back, as Moran had some business to take care of that night. He had returned as soon as he could, only to find that his place had been taken, and he was annoyed to find that Miss Hooper appeared to be enjoying her new partner's company more so than his. James pondered the nature of Miss Hooper and Mr Holmes' conversation and smirked. _I do believe I'll get my dance with Miss Hooper after all_...

Glancing at the ornate grandfather clock in the corner, he left the room. It was time to meet Moran and a few others to discuss their next lot of business. And by the smug, calculated look on James' face as he left, you could tell that it would not be something pleasant…

**A/N: Dun dun duh! ****I really really **_**really **_**should not have started this fic… BUT I DID SO WHO CARES. If you enjoyed it, please review, and if there's anything I can improve upon, please tell me so I can correct it and thus improve! Reviews are like hugs, and I really like hugs.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and/or followed so far! I hope you all enjoy this next chapter :D**

"Thank you, Mr Holmes. I really appreciate this."

"It's no problem at all. And please – call me Mycroft."

"Then you may call me Molly. I shall see you next week, then?"

"Of course. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

It was a week later and Molly had just finished her first appointment with Mycroft Holmes and the doctor he had employed; a Dr Elsom from the St Bartholomew's hospital. Dr Elsom was kindly, but firm, and had made Molly promise that she would take his teachings seriously, and work hard. Mycroft had been present at the start and finish of the lesson, but had disappeared soon after introducing Molly to the doctor. He had showed her to the door, and this is where this chapter begins.

Molly clambered into the waiting cab Mycroft had ordered for her, and with a crack of the cabby's whip they were off, jolting along the cobbled, dimly-lit streets of London. She leaned back in her seat and sighed happily, hugging herself with glee. This was it! Her dream was about to come true! She couldn't wait for the following Wednesday to learn more, although Dr Elsom had given her work to keep her busy during the week.

The ten minute journey passed uneventfully. The cabby helped Molly down from the carriage before hopping back up into his seat and driving off, whistling all the while.

She stood for a few moments gazing up at the stars. Her breath puffed out in front of her; November was definitely settling in. She turned to the door of 221B Baker Street, only to find it was open and someone was leaving.

"… yes, thank you, I'll call again when she's available. Goodbye."

Molly's stomach turned; she recognised that voice with its hint of Irish. The man turned around, and Molly's worst suspicions were confirmed. James Moriarty.

"Ah, Miss Hooper! Can I call you Mary? Or, what about Molly?"

"Hello…" said Molly warily.

"I only stopped by to invite you to the opera, on the fourteenth. _Tristan und Isolde_, by Wagner. It's very popular in Drury Lane."

"Um, thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline."

James' face fell; for a moment it looked as though a shadow had passed across it. Molly suppressed a shudder and longed to go into the house; the cold outside was no longer refreshing.

"And why is that?"

"Because…" Molly wracked her brains for an excuse… Yes! That was it! "Because Mycroft Holmes has asked me for tea. I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's no problem. Perhaps I'll see you around, then?"

Molly gave a small smile, grateful that the conversation was coming to an end. "Perhaps you will."

"Goodbye… Molly." James tipped his hat and strode off down the street, a cane in hand. Molly sighed with relief and stepped into the house.

"Did you have a pleasant time with Mr Holmes?" Mrs Hudson had stepped out of the living room on hearing the door click shut. Molly smiled wearily, remembering the previous hour. "Yes, I did, thank you."

"Oh yes! A young man called for you… Mr Moriarty was his name; I believe he was talking to you at the dance last week! He wanted to know whether you would like to go to the opera with him? Sounds promising…" Mrs Hudson smiled at Molly, who suppressed another shudder. Her, with James? Not if she could help it. Something about him was… _off_. "Did he catch you coming out the door?"

"Yes, he did," Molly replied, "but I had to turn him down. Mr Holmes has asked me to tea with him."

"Has he now? Well, he seems to be getting quite fond of you. Perhaps…" Mrs Hudson smiled knowingly again, and it dawned on Molly as to what she was implying.

"Oh no! He's just a friend… Nothing's… He's not…"

"I know, dear! I was joking! Now, off to bed with you. It's an early start in the morning; you are to accompany me to the tailors to help me find a new dress. I don't seem to have one decent piece of clothing…"

Molly smiled and walked up the stairs, leaving Mrs Hudson muttering about 'fashion these days' and how it was much better 'back in her day'. Next Wednesday could not come soon enough…

…

The week crawled by. Molly had finished her work by the next day, and so spent the remaining six days searching various libraries for more books to keep her knowledge fresh. Mrs Hudson tutted quietly, murmuring that it wasn't right for young girls to go filling their heads with such things. Molly would just smile and run up the stairs to read.

Wednesday finally came around again. At 7:30pm, Molly dashed down the stairs with a shoulder bag of books and paper, grabbed her coat, called a hasty goodbye to Mrs Hudson, and hopped down the front steps to the waiting cab that Mycroft had arranged for her.

…

"The cake was superb. Thank you!"

"It was no trouble. It seems you are keeping your promise to Dr Elsom very well."

"Oh, yes. I intend to work my hardest."

"I have no doubt that you do. Farewell."

The door closed behind her and Molly looked at the cab thoughtfully for a moment.

"Ready to get in, Miss Hooper?"

"Hmm. No thank you, sir."

"You don't want use of the cab?"

"Not tonight, thank you. Sorry for the wasted journey."

"Oh, no trouble. 'Tis a pleasant night to be out, by all accounts. Enjoy your walk!"

"Thank you. Goodnight!"

The cab left, the horse's hooves getting quieter and quieter. Soon, the street was near silent, save for the odd bark of a dog. Molly smiled contentedly and set off. It would take her just over half an hour to walk home, she calculated, and set off.

Molly came to the entrance of Hyde Park; the path through was lit with gas lamps. As she started to make her way through, she thought she could hear the sound of men's voices. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, she quickened her pace. But then, amongst the voices, she heard a child's cry ring out. It was clear and audible, and it stopped Molly's heart for a moment. Suddenly, she heard more voices; the voices of children, and they did not sound happy. She stopped completely on the path, and swivelled about in the direction of the sounds. It seemed to be coming from up ahead, by the bridge crossing the Serpentine and the Long Water. Whilst her sensible side screamed "Find a Bow Street Runner!", her adventurous side took over and she ventured forward, reasoning that she had a heavy satchel to defend herself with, should it come to that.

As she got closer, she saw lights that seemed to be coming from under the bridge. In fear that she would be discovered, she hurried along as quietly as she could and ran onto the bridge. Carefully peering over the edge, Molly gasped at what she saw.

About ten burly men, ranging in age from between their early twenties and perhaps mid-forties stood trussing up about five or six young children. Some looked ragged and dirty, as if they had been plucked from the streets, but one or two looked (or had looked) presentable, with decent clothes. Molly quickly ducked behind the railings and listened to the ensuing discussion.

"'Ere, quit your snivellin' or else I'll really give you somethin' to cry about."

"But I want to go home!" wailed a child. Molly felt tears spring into her eyes.

"Shut it!" A slap was heard, and the child fell quiet. Molly flinched and was about to go for help but the next words held her captive.

"We need to get this lot to the master for inspection before they're shipped out."

"Where're they headed?"

"I dunno, possibly for Australia, per'aps even France. I don't know everythin', do I?"

"Sorry."

A child-trafficking ring? Molly was horrified. Deciding to risk one last quick look, to see if she could detail at least one of the men to a police officer, she quickly stood up and glanced over the railings.

"Who's that?" A lantern flashed up from below and focused on Molly. Three men were looking up at her; giving a frightened squeak, she fled. As she ran she heard, "Get after her! She's seen us!" and the footsteps of maybe three or more pursuers.

Molly ran faster than she'd ever run before in her life. Over the bridge, through the park, and down onto Bayswater Road. She could hear the footsteps getting louder behind her. Her bag was jolting uncomfortably on her shoulder, but she dared not let it go.

Thinking to give the men the slip, she dashed into one of the smaller, quieter streets. Unfortunately, it seemed they knew this part of town just as well as her, and followed. Gasping, and a stitch in her side, Molly stumbled on the cobbles, and her bag fell to the floor. She stopped, intending to pick it up, but before she could, rough hands grabbed her and wrenched her away from it. She was pushed against the wall; she struggled, but to no avail.

"What do we do with 'er?" asked a voice.

"Get rid – she'll just complicate matters." Somewhere, a knife flashed.

"No, please!" Molly cried.

"Sorry, but I gotta do what I gotta do…"

Molly closed her eyes, and flinched against the wall, preparing for the inevitable stabbing pain that would follow, when –

"Leave her be!" Molly's eyes shot open and she looked around for her saviour.

A dark shape loomed at the far end of the alley. It looked almost like…

"I said, let go of her!" At once, the man holding her backed away, and into the dim light stepped James Moriarty.

Molly clutched at her chest. "Thank you so much," she gasped.

"It's no problem." James flashed a smirk at her before turning to the men. "Go and finish the job. They're all fine. Crate them up and take them to the dock. You know the one."

The men nodded and left. Molly frowned. That's not right…

"You… _you know them_?"

"Of course. I hired them."

That did it. Molly made a dash for it, but James got there quicker. He pinned her against the wall, one hand either side of her head. "Going somewhere, Molly?" he asked teasingly.

"I don't understand…"

"Well then, let me clear things up for you. I hired those men to find those children so they could ship them off for profit."

"You're exporting children for money?"

"Isn't that what I just said? Keep up, Molly."

Molly crossed her arms and tilted her chin defiantly up at him. "Yes, well, not for long. I think Scotland Yard would be quite interested to hear about this."

"They probably would. But you're mistaken in one thing, Molly. They're not _going _to hear about this, are they?"

"Yes they are. I'm going to tell them."

James smirked. "No you're not."

"Why wouldn't I?"

He laughed. "Because, my _dear_, I have this." He stepped away from her and brought out her bag. "Now let's see, what's in here? Medical journals? Books? Notes? What's going on? Why on earth would a young girl like you be carrying all of this…? It wouldn't be because you want to be a doctor, would it? _Dr _Molly Hooper… Yes, well, this is where we hit our quandary. You see, if you tell on me about this particular incident… I'm going to have to tell Lady Bercombe about _this_."

Molly glared. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, but I would. What would she think of you becoming something so _ordinary_, hmm? She'd put a stop to it, wouldn't she? Take you back to Cambridge, where you could work on more _feminine _pursuits, like sewing, and maybe even some cooking... Of course, if that threat isn't enough, then I could always kill you… But this way is _much _more fun!"

A tear slid down Molly's cheek. She was _so _close… and this man had to ruin it all. _Moriarty_. It wasn't fair.

"What do you want?" she asked dully.

"Well, your silence on the matter, obviously. You stay quiet about this, I'll stay quiet about your lessons with a certain Dr Elsom… You wouldn't be the only one in the firing line if word of my… _exploits _got out, just remember that. And I would like you to accompany me to the opera tomorrow. _Tristan und Isolde_, isn't it exciting?"

Molly couldn't see a way out at this point. If she told, her dream was over, and so was her life, probably. Not to mention the lives of others. She _knew_ something was off about Moriarty; but she could not have imagined anything as sinister as this. But why did he insist on the opera?

"Hello, Molly?" Moriarty waved a hand in front of her face. "Do we have a deal?" He held out his hand.

Taking a deep breath, Molly replied quietly. "Yes."

Moriarty raised his eyebrows. "I'm going to need a handshake to seal the bargain," he said, "or Lady Bercombe's going to get a _very _interesting letter—"

Molly quickly placed her hand in his, and just as he'd done at the dance, he raised it to his lips. She snatched it back, but Moriarty only grinned and offered her his arm. "I'll walk you home, shall I? Look, I'll even carry your bag for you…"

Molly sighed and linked with him. They set off down the street. Moriarty made polite, even charming conversation, but Molly did not listen at all. She was pretty sure she had just made a deal with the Devil, and he drove a hard bargain…

**A/N: IT'S 1:35am. Please review, it will make the sleeplessness worth it! Poor old Molly, she can't catch a break even back in the 1800s. For those of you who are wondering, "Where on earth are Sherlock and John?!" DO NOT FEAR. If all goes to plan they shall be making their entrance in the next chapter, so stay tuned… :) BTW, THIS IS LIKE THE LONGEST CHAPTER I HAVE EVER WRITTEN FOR A FANFICTION EVER, SO YEAH. JUST THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW. OKAY BYE.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, but enough stalling. On with the show! (By the way, I took all of my **_**Tristan und Isolde **_**facts from here: wiki/Tristan_und_Isolde, so if you're not sure what's going on, just give it a quick look :D)**

**Chapter 3**

Mr Sherlock Holmes sat in one of the elaborate boxes in the theatre in Drury Lane. Golden-gilded cherubs pointed little golden arrows at each other with serene smiles on their faces, but Sherlock wasn't interested in them. He scanned the stalls below with his intent hawk-like gaze, looking for something, _anything_, that could give him a clue as to the baker's whereabouts. Mycroft had been so _sure_ that he would be here, and well, Sherlock needed the money. His rented apartment was becoming too expensive for one man to run, but the hunt for a roommate was proving difficult if impossible. He didn't want to move, either. 221B Baker Street was situated beautifully and it did Sherlock very well when he needed to be somewhere particularly quickly.

Nothing, yet. Sherlock sighed and checked his watch. Only ten minutes to go before the performance. He rolled his eyes and turned his sights to the other, quite full boxes up near the gods in the theatre. He snorted quietly; who would pay huge sums for a night out to watch some dreary, average opera when he could quite easily solve a murder in quicker time and for free? He just didn't understand. Good thing Mycroft was paying for his seat tonight.

Just as he decided to stretch his legs before the performance, movement in one of the empty boxes caught his eye; well, it was no longer empty. A smartly-dressed couple had entered the box; a man in a tuxedo with the usual cane and top hat combination, and the woman in an evening gown of plum. Just after they had seated themselves, another man entered and stood behind the couple. Sherlock noticed with mild interest that the seated man looked almost gleeful, whereas the woman looked as if she wanted to throw herself off the balcony into the stalls below. _Typical poorly arranged marriage. Either that or she didn't particularly fancy this performance_. Sherlock lost interest, and then the curtain rose. As the first characters stepped out onto the stage and begun to sing, he noticed one of the extras in the background and narrowed his eyes. "_Gotcha_," he whispered with a smirk.

…

"Isn't this thrilling?" asked Moriarty, as he draped his arm over the back of Molly's chair. "I've been looking forward to this opera for so long now, and it's made even better by you being here. I'm so glad you could come…"

Molly said nothing. She just glared in his general direction and hunched down on her seat. This only made Moriarty chuckle. "Moran, fetch Miss Hooper a drink. She looks like she could do with a little livening up."

Molly spun to face Moran. "That won't be necessary. I'm not thirsty." She turned to Moriarty. "And I don't need 'livening up', as you put it. You know very well why I'm not talking to you."

"Hate to burst your bubble, Molly… but you just did."

Molly clenched her white-gloved fists. _I will not hit him, I will not hit him, he could destroy everything, I will not hit him_, she chanted to herself silently. She instead decided to focus on the opera.

After the first half an hour, she had to admit that Moriarty was right: it was a good opera. She could completely sympathise with Isolde's rage at Tristan, the knight whose job it was to convey her to her arranged marriage with his uncle. Not only that, but it turns out Tristan had murdered her fiancé, and he had also tricked Isolde into healing him of wounds by going under a different name.

Throughout the first act, Moriarty occasionally glimpsed at Molly and had to stifle laughter as he watched her face go through various emotions. He knew perfectly well she had resolved not to be affected by the opera, but he did tell her it was good. Just to annoy her further, he tapped his fingers lightly on the back of her neck. He felt her stiffen and suppressed a smirk. It was at that moment that he glanced across the gallery, and who should he espy but Sherlock Holmes, the great detective. His sadistic smile widened. The evening was about to get even more interesting…

…

The curtains dropped. Act I was over. Moriarty's fingers stopped tapping and Molly let out a small sigh. After the applause was finished, she turned to the vile man sat next to her.

"Please," she said, trying not to sound desperate, "please could you give me just five minutes to myself? I'll come back, I swear. I just need some fresh air, _without_ you. Please?"

Moriarty rolled his eyes. "Oh, alright then," he said. "Just five minutes."

Molly smiled and jumped out of her seat, but just as she was leaving the box, his hand reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"Don't make me come looking for you," he whispered.

Molly swallowed and nodded before heading down the stairs to the lobby with the rest of the crowd. Tears were already forming in her eyes and she quite literally burst through the nearest door she could find. She ended up outside in a small side alley; up ahead she could see Drury Lane itself. She leaned against the door and it shut; try as she might she could not get it open. Venting her frustration, she aimed a kick at the door. "Ugh!" she cried.

"Hey, hey, stop that! Oh."

The door had opened and a man in his early thirties poked his head around the door. He had been about to tear a strip off whoever was vandalising the door, but when he saw the distraught figure in front of him, he stopped.

"I'm sorry," said Molly in a trembling voice. She wiped the tears away from her face and reached for her handkerchief when she realised she didn't have it with her.

"Here," said the kindly man in the doorway. "Come back inside – it's freezing out there!"

Molly gave a small smile and stepped back inside. "Thank you," she said, and tried to hand back the handkerchief, but the man would not accept it.

"No, you keep it. You look like you need it more than I do."

Molly smiled again, and then looked at the dainty watch strapped to her wrist. "Oh no! I'm really sorry, I have to go. Thank you for this!"

"Wait! Not that it's any of my business, but are you okay?"

Molly gave him a sympathetic look. As much as she wanted to pour out her soul, she had run out of time. And besides, who spills there darkest secrets to a stranger, and a theatre usher at that?

"No," she whispered, but just as the man started forward to enquire more, she was gone.

The usher looked out from the doorway and saw the young woman vanish up the staircase. As crowded as it was, what with everyone making their way back to their seats for Act II, he couldn't help but notice the tall blond gentleman who followed closely behind her back to their box. He frowned; something was very off about them. But there wasn't anything he could do now; he didn't even know her name! Shaking his head sadly, he was just about to fetch a mop and bucket when a hand tapped him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, but I don't suppose you got that young woman's name, did you?"

"Um, no. Why?" The usher spun round and looked up. In front of him was a tall man in a long, dark blue coat (quite unusual for this season) and curly dark hair. He was pale, and seemed overall to be a very unusual gentleman. "You're – you're Sherlock Holmes!"

"How very observant," said Sherlock in a bored voice. "Well, if you can't give me any further information, then I shall leave you to your work. Good day."

The usher frowned. "Wait! She said she… wasn't okay. When I asked her. Then I saw her disappear with a blond man. They're watching Act II right now."

"Hmm." Sherlock gave a gracious nod to the usher. "Thank you for your time." And with that, he was gone through the theatre doors and out into the night.

The usher sat down on the steps of the grand staircase and sighed. _This has certainly been an unusual evening_, he thought. _But that's all over now. Come on, those floors won't clean themselves_.

At that moment, the theatre doors opened again and Sherlock strode through them. "What's your name?" he asked.

The usher stood up. "John," he said. "John Watson. Well, _Doctor_ John Watson, actually, but as you can see…"

"Yes yes, very good. Tell me… Would you like a roommate?"

"Er, why?"

"Because I need one. Are you interested or not?"

John thought for a moment. "Are you going to try and help that young lady?"

"She's on my list, yes."

"Then fine. I'll take it. The room, that is."

"Good. 221B Baker Street. I shall see you tomorrow at 9:30 prompt with all your belongings. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mr Holmes."

And he was gone. John went for the mop and bucket and washed the floors with renewed vigour. Life with Sherlock Holmes sounded exciting… And if there was an opportunity to help the pale young woman, well that was even better. _I just hope she's alright…_

…

"Naughty, Molly – nearly had to make me come looking for you," said Moriarty, when Molly had taken her seat again. Colonel Moran cracked his knuckles behind her and she shuddered. She wished she had asked for more time; then maybe she could have told that usher about what was going on. Even though he couldn't help, it would have been nice to talk to someone about her predicament.

Little did she know that she was running circles in the thoughts of two other men that night, both of whom had her best interests at heart. And when Sherlock Holmes began a case, he saw it through to the bitter end…

**A/N: Another one! Hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I liked writing it :D I know Sherlock and John's characters are a little hard to pull off, so I hope you don't hate me too much… :P If you have any tips on how to write them, they would be gratefully received! And as always, reviews are a great incentive… *wink wink***


	4. Author's Note and Apology

*takes deep breath*

…Hi. I KNOW it's been a while, and for that, I apologise. Unfortunately, I have some bad news.

I'm off to America for 3 months, which means no updates. I also haven't had time to plan ahead for this story (I'm trying to round off two others!) so, here's what I am suggesting.

Before I go, I would like to assign this story to someone else. You can take it wherever you want; I will take it down from my site, email you the current documents, and you can do whatever!

If I get more than one offer to take this story on, then I will look at individual profiles and judge based on that. Otherwise, free to a good home! All I ask is that I be given a *little* credit somewhere (e.g. original idea by milkshakebubblebath, something like that…)

The alternative option is that you all wait three months during which I might have some ideas as to where to take this, but I will totally understand if you are fed up with waiting.

Thank you all so much for your patience and kind reviews, and I hope that whoever takes this on gets as much positive feedback as I have. Also, be sure to send me the link so I can have a gander at where you've taken it!

Much love,

Becca x


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